The Sorceress: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

  Sulrad advanced on the dragon’s exposed neck, lifted a large, scaly plate, and slid the blade deep into the black dragon.

  As the blade slid home, the red dragon released the black one and took to the wing. It vanished into the sky even as Sulrad stepped up to the bleeding black dragon. Blood soaked into the ground at his feet. The dragon’s magic separated from it, swirling in a tight vortex surrounding Sulrad, filling him with its power.

  Zhimosom felt it. It was overwhelming. It would fill Sulrad and then some, as Zhimosom had done with the pools. Surely this was enough to kill Sulrad. Maybe he would not have to attack after all. Just as Zhimosom felt it could go on no longer, Sulrad reached for the charm around his neck and held it aloft.

  The dragon turned into a shower of light, and it released the remainder of its magical energy.

  The magic swirled around Sulrad, tighter and tighter. It looked like a small tornado. The tip of the vortex circled around the charm and the stone set in it. The magic rose and fell, sparks of vermillion and silver chasing one another in a tight circle that emitted a shriek. Zhimosom covered his ears, it was so loud. The whirling vortex of magic penetrated the stone and vanished within, leaving Sulrad standing in the canyon surrounded by darkness.

  Zhimosom shifted his position.

  In his haste, he dislodged a stone.

  It clattered down into the canyon, careening off the walls with such a din, Zhimosom thought it could be heard all the way back at the wizards’ camp.

  Zhimosom cringed and turned to signal Helmyer.

  The old wizard ducked behind a boulder, and Zhimosom sighed with relief. He turned back to see what Sulrad was doing, but Sulrad seemed not to have noticed anything. He was performing some ritual with the amulet.

  Zhimosom was so engaged with Sulrad’s actions that he was not prepared for what happened next.

  He heard the sound of stones falling and then a scream.

  He looked over to see Helmyer hunched down, trying to avoid the snapping jaws of the red dragon. It had landed on the rocks overhead and was snapping at the wizard with its long neck and massive jaws.

  “Stop that,” Zhimosom shouted.

  He tried the spell of binding on the dragon, but it did nothing.

  The dragon struck again.

  Helmyer rolled to the side, and the dragon snapped its jaw shut on empty air.

  The wizard could not stay out of the dragon’s reach for long.

  Zhimosom stood up and shouted, trying to distract the dragon.

  It never wavered from its pursuit of the wizard. Its head drew back and darted forward again and again as Helmyer rolled from side to side.

  When the dragon drew back, Helmyer got to his feet.

  He hadn’t made it a step when he screamed.

  The dragon had finally found its mark.

  The beast clamped the wizard in its jaws, but did not bear down.

  It raised its head up and took to the wing, bearing the wizard away.

  It swooped low over Sulrad and dropped Helmyer to the sand to lie on the bloody stain left by Sulrad’s first victim.

  Sulrad advanced on Helmyer.

  “No,” Zhimosom screamed.

  The knife flashed.

  Helmyer’s magic was released just as the dragon’s had been, only this time, it was not a swirling cloud of silver and vermillion. This time, images formed in the cloud. Images of what could only be Helmyer’s past. Sulrad was not only absorbing his magic, but his essence. He shuddered. It was frightening. Did that mean Sulrad was absorbing the man’s knowledge? That would make it almost unbeatable. This had to stop.

  As the magic rushed to fill the charm, Zhimosom realized his focus had been on the wrong thing. A stone dislodged above him and rolled past. He turned to see the dragon flapping its mighty wings just over his head.

  He was too late. Before he could react, it took hold of him.

  Zhimosom struggled to breathe, but the dragon had him tightly in its grip.

  The ground dropped away beneath him as the beast took flight. Was he too to be dropped in front of Sulrad? Was he next?

  But he was not dropped. Rather, the dragon rose into the afternoon sky, the jerky up and down motion of its wings making Zhimosom’s stomach queasy as they rose higher and higher. Soon, the rocks below looked like pebbles on grass.

  The mountains loomed ahead, but even they quickly fell beneath the rising dragon. Where were they going?

  Zhimosom grew dizzy. His lungs burned. Just as he thought he could endure no more, the dragon rested its wings and started to glide.

  The air whistled past Zhimosom’s ears as they descended toward a mountain peak below. Where were they? He had no idea. Far below was a small town perched among the rocks. The homes were rustic, made from scraps of stone and little else. A square lay open in the center of the town. It was there that the dragon was headed. It flared its wings and settled to the earth, releasing Zhimosom just as its feet touched the ground.

  Zhimosom gulped in air as the pressure on his chest released.

  The dragon stepped back. It raised its head and shot fire into the twilight air. It looked back down and Zhimosom heard its words form in his head.

  “Sulrad has commanded me to abandon you here. He fears killing you. He does not want you harmed. But neither does he want you in Amedon. I am under his command. I cannot fight his will, but my mind is still my own. I do as commanded, but I do not like it. Please find a way to stop this madness. Free us from this wizard’s spells.”

  With that, the dragon gave a screech and spread its wings. “He commands.”

  It drew in a breath and shot fire at Zhimosom.

  He raised his shields and hunkered down. It was all he could do to withstand the blast.

  As the flames licked at his shields, he felt his magic drain from his body. Soon he would be exhausted, too weak to maintain the shields. Then he would be burned alive.

  As the last of his power slipped away, the dragon halted its fire.

  Zhimosom fell to the ground. His magic was gone. He tried to draw power from Rotiaqua or the pools, but without any personal magic, he was unable to access them.

  He was powerless.

  “I am sorry,” the dragon said. “He commanded me to drain your magic so you cannot follow. This next battle will be fought without you.”

  The dragon spread its wings and launched itself into the sky.

  Zhimosom watched helplessly as it vanished.

  He was alone. Alone in the middle of nowhere. On the other side of the mountains that now separated him from Sulrad, the wizards of Amedon, and the coming war.

  39

  Alwroth woke to screams and the smell of burning canvas.

  His tent was afire.

  The canvas over his head shot flames into the night air.

  Far above, a dragon shrieked.

  He raised a protective barrier about his person, knowing in his heart that it would not be enough. He drew on all of his strength to make it as solid as possible. Dragon-fire was infused with their wild magic and could not be easily defeated.

  Even as his shield formed, he rushed to Uskin. Her skin was burned, her bedding afire.

  Alwroth reached into the flames, hardening his shield as he did, and tried to drag her from the fire.

  She screamed in pain.

  He pushed his magic into her, trying to numb the pain and heal her burns enough so he could get her outside. It wasn’t enough. She screamed as he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the inferno. Her own magic was weak. Her shields had faltered and were ineffective against the dragon’s fire.

  Still, he had to do something. He could not lose her. Not now. He pulled her burned arm around his shoulder and lifted her to her feet. She screamed, and it cut him to the core. The reflection of her pain was worse than the pain of his own burns. It was almost more than he could abide, yet he had to do something to save her. Giving up was not in his nature.

  He dug deep for the energy to continue tapping into th
e last reserve of his magic. He stumbled along, hauling Uskin as much as helping her walk. Her legs were charred black, but bright red where the burned flesh had cracked. She moaned in pain with each step he took.

  They had not gone half a dozen steps when the dragon dipped and released its second burst of flame. It was directed not only at their tent but at the two of them. Alwroth hardened and extended his shields to cover Uskin. Perhaps he could divert the fire. It was up to him. Uskin had precious little magic of her own.

  The dragon-fire licked over them. Heat seared his back. But, by some miracle, Alwroth was able to hold out against the pain. He stumbled away from the tent, carrying the limp form of Uskin with him until he reached the meadow outside of the camp. He lowered the sorceress to the ground and called out, hoping for a healer, knowing that even a healer would be of little use.

  It was not a healer who came to his aid, but Moright.

  By the time the other wizard arrived, Uskin was unconscious.

  Moright examined her, prodding and carefully lifting her scorched clothes. She was covered in burns, her beautiful hair scorched into a tangled mess. Only a portion of her face remained unscathed.

  Alwroth tried to infuse power into her, but she was fading.

  “There is little I can do,” Moright said. “She is burned badly and the remedy for dragon’s fire is beyond my ability.”

  “There must be something we can do.” Alwroth pressed harder, trying to stop her decline as he used the last of his own magic to keep her alive.

  She moaned softly.

  She seemed to take comfort in his ministrations. For the moment, she was no longer in immediate danger. Perhaps there was yet hope. Alwroth crafted a spell of healing and rest and wove it around her.

  The reflection of her pain and fear he experienced through their connection diminished. She fell into a quiet sleep.

  Alwroth sighed. She was safe for now. He could return his attention to the dragons.

  He looked up into the sky, seeing the dragons reel and head back for another attack. The damage they had already wrought was horrific. The camp was in disarray. The site lit up with the magic of the wizards as they took up defensive positions. Alwroth hoped at least one of them had the strength to withstand the dragon’s fire, but he was not confident. With Uskin dying, he knew his own time was short. He barely had the strength to join the battle. He feared that, should he use his magic against the dragons, Uskin would die that much sooner.

  He felt Moright’s magic as the wizard crafted and launched spells, one after the other, relentlessly battering the dragons.

  Moright was one of the strongest warrior-wizards Alwroth had ever met. It gave him a small glimmer of hope to see the old wizard stand, arms outstretched, staff ablaze. But he feared his efforts would not be sufficient. Another attack was coming. He needed to get Uskin to safety before it did. Spare her from further harm. He found a place where she would be sheltered. She would be safe while he fought off the dragons. He could tend to her wounds once the conflict was over. He carried Uskin over to a stand of trees not far from the camp. Careful of the stones and scrub brush that dotted the dry ground, he gently lowered her to the grass. He knelt down and spoke in her ear, employing a spell that would carry his voice through the healing and sleep spells he had already cast on her.

  She would not respond, but she would hear him and remember his words when she awoke.

  “You will survive,” Alwroth assured her. “You are strong. I can feel it in you even now. Hold fast.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek in the only area where her flesh was not raw and blackened from the dragon’s fire.

  “I have to leave you here, but I will return.”

  He stood up and turned back to the battle. It was going better than he had hoped. The wizard Moright somehow was able to hold the dragon-fire at bay. The old wizard must have found a spell that was effective, at least for the moment, but hope was soon crushed. A dragon appeared, mighty wings beating as it hovered above Moright. It opened its massive jaw and spit fire, spearing the war wizard with a lance of flame.

  Alwroth flinched, but the fire did not penetrate the invisible shield he had erected.

  Perhaps the battle was not yet lost.

  The dragon withdrew into the sky, and Moright relaxed his spell. The wizard’s relief was palpable, but it was short-lived. Another screech split the sky as the second dragon joined the first. They circled as if admiring the wreckage. The wizard’s respite would be short-lived.

  No more than a heartbeat had passed when both dragons folded their wings and dropped like a pair of stones thrown from a tower.

  They shrieked as they dove, their cries filling the air.

  The dragons spread their wings wide as they neared the camp. The lead dragon left a trail of flames and stench that cut through the middle of the camp, isolating the wizards on each side from one another. The second dragon was more purposeful and directed. It focused first on the remains of Alwroth’s tent, washing it in flame until there was nothing left but a small pile of ash. It hung there, beating its wings, hovering in place, as it streamed death on the camp.

  Alwroth felt the magic as Moright expanded his spell to take in the whole camp.

  It was working.

  There was hope.

  Alwroth tried to add his magic to Moright’s shields.

  They were failing.

  The wizard was running dry.

  His magic had reached its limit.

  The spell failed.

  The mess tent burst into flames, throwing sparks into the sky.

  The wizards inside screamed as the fire overtook them.

  The stench of burned flesh mingled with the wood smoke of the cook fires and the aroma of the meal the unfortunate wizards had abandoned to defend the camp.

  Alwroth knelt down to steady himself.

  He raised his hands and aimed them at the dragon’s eyes. “Excaecant oculos,” he called out, casting a spell to blind the dragon. The intense power draw the simple spell had taken was exhausting but worth it. The spell appeared to be working. The beast shook its head and screamed in pain.

  It lost focus on its target.

  Flames spread everywhere, but no longer was it focused enough to ignite anything else.

  Alwroth rushed to the mess tent and peered inside.

  The interior was afire, but one young wizard still lived.

  The boy cowered from the advancing flames.

  “Hurry, I will shield you.” Alwroth extended his protection, shielding the young wizard from the flames overhead as the lad made his way out of the burning structure. When the tent collapsed around him, the young wizard stumbled and fell to the ground.

  Alwroth reached out and tried to strengthen the spell that protected the boy, but he lacked the strength.

  He raged at his impotence.

  A blast of dragon-fire washed over the boy and incinerated him where he lay.

  “Curse you!” Alwroth shook his fist in the air as the dragon hovered overhead, but his words had no effect. The dragon rained fire on the mess tent until it was nothing but ash. The smells of the burning flesh and cook fire faded into the background stench.

  The dragon was still impaired. Alwroth could feel its pain. He pressed a new spell at it, hoping to divert it from its path. It worked, but not as Alwroth had intended. The dragon’s aim was wild. It sprayed fire haphazardly, catching tents and escaping wizards in its breath.

  A shriek split the air.

  The first dragon had returned and astride it, the form of a wizard.

  Alwroth turned his attention to the wizard.

  “Mortem ad proditor.” He screamed death at the traitor.

  He drew power from deep in his reserves, tapping the surrounding flames to fuel his rage.

  The dragon must have sensed his spell, because it twisted its neck just as the fireball struck, intercepting it before it hit the wizard.

  Alwroth swore.

  The dragon rose into the ai
r and joined its fellow. Side by side, they dove, fire spouting in a violet light as the dragons fell. Their focus was on Moright as he fought to recover his protective spell.

  Moright burst into flames.

  In a flash of vermillion, Alwroth’s most trusted adviser simply ceased to exist.

  The dragons separated and turned, each to its own path of destruction. One of them headed for the side of the camp where the damage was light and a few tents remained intact. The other turned toward the stand of trees where Alwroth had left Uskin.

  Uskin!

  Alwroth had almost forgotten about her plight, so focused was he on defending the encampment. He ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him.

  He reached Uskin, dove, and rolled across the rough ground to come to rest against her.

  He raised a protective shield around them both just as the dragon spat fire.

  It scorched his outstretched hands, but he held, drawing power wildly from his fading reserves, knowing it would soon fail him.

  The dragon landed nearby and craned its neck. Its large black eyes were glazed over. Alwroth could feel a struggle going on inside the dragon, as if it was fighting itself for control.

  Perched on its back was the wizard Sulrad. He held his staff aloft and screamed, “Kill him!”

  Alwroth recalled the shield Moright had used. He poured what little reserves he had into the spell and raised a fireball of his own. He guided it around the dragon and toward the wizard.

  Sulrad raised his staff, but he was not fast enough.

  The fireball seared his arm.

  He cried out in pain.

  The dragon reared back.

  Alwroth curled into a ball, waiting for the breath of fire that would overcome his shields.

  It did not come.

  The dragon stepped back and stretched out its wings. The horns on its head gleamed in the early dawn light. Sulrad sat astride the mighty beast, cradling his burned arm.

  The dragon paused as if listening to a voice only it could hear.

  Without warning, it spread its wings and launched itself into the sky.